


One Thing Led To Another

by Ruruu137



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Unplanned Pregnancy, Victorian!sherlolly, victorian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-05-01 16:44:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14524914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruruu137/pseuds/Ruruu137
Summary: It is 19th century London, and Miss Molly Hooper is suffering from one unplanned event to another.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit of a short multi-chaptered story centered in Victorian AU Sherlolly.
> 
> Edit: I posted this chapter while I was feeling sleepy, so you can imagine the confusion on my face when I noticed I said the story was set in 18th century London, instead of 19th century. I've fixed the mistake, though, so...

* * *

 

 

Molly stared incredulously at her great-aunt, tears welling up in her eyes.

 

“I should give up the baby?” she asked, her voice barely coming out of her mouth.

 

Her great-aunt Matilda pursed her lips. “Honestly, my dear, I don’t understand why you would be upset about it. I have told you that that Moriarty lad is not good to you, and look at what he had done to you.”

 

Molly hated to agree, but she did. Only God knew what possessed her to believe every sweet lies James Moriarty had spitted out from his mouth in the form of promises. He promised he would marry her. He promised he would give her a place to stay, food to eat and enough provisions to support their family.

 

But less than three days after she broke the news to him, he disappeared.

 

Great-aunt Matilda clicked her tongue. “Better yet, you should get rid of the baby.”

 

“No!” Molly almost screamed. Her hands instinctively went to cover her not-yet bulging stomach carrying her three-week-old baby. “I don’t want to!”

 

“Margaret Hooper!”

 

“No!” She quickly went to grab her coat. “Whatever you say or do, I won’t give up the baby!”

 

As Molly placed her hand on the door knob, Great-aunt Matilda said in a cold voice, “If you take one step further, you are not to enter this house ever again.”

 

Molly silently pondered on her words. After her parents’ tragic accident ten years ago, the then-5-year-old Margaret Anne Louise “Molly” Hooper was brought into her father’s widowed aunt’s home in London. It was this, or the orphanage in Bath, and rumour has it, the orphanage only helped in producing slaves for the ever-growing industrial revolution in London in the 18th century. Great-aunt Matilda had provided for her education and well-being, but somehow to the older woman’s dismay, all those lessons were no use when ten years after she was brought in, Miss Molly Hooper was introduced to the charming Professor James Moriarty.

 

Professor Moriarty was a visiting professor at Oxford, and would often bump into young Miss Hooper at the marketplace. The man’s charms and gentleman-like behaviour had swept the young lady off of her feet. Great-aunt Matilda had understandably sympathised with Miss Hooper as the young lady had never experienced love in her entire life, other than the ones she had felt from her parents and servants at the great mansion who ended up becoming her close friends and confidantes.

 

But Great-aunt Matilda was upset when Miss Hooper’s upset stomach and unexplainable change in moods was actually the cause of a cursed child growing inside her belly.

 

At present, Molly had finished thinking. Listening closely to the deep breaths her great-aunt was taking, she quietly said, “I don’t care.” She opened the door and never looked back.

 

In just a few seconds, Molly regretted her decision. Doctor Watson’s orders were to stay at home, get some rest, and only go outside if she ever felt suffocated for staying too long inside the house. Molly knew that if she adamantly chose to keep the baby, her great-aunt would’ve forced her to stay inside the house until the baby comes out. And Molly refused to be confined.

 

But the thought of staying in bed for the rest of nine months sounded more appealing to Molly right now as she felt more nauseated and black spots appeared in her vision. She barely managed to arrive at the gates of the park when she bent over and puked over the bushes.

 

‘Propriety be damned,’ she thought as her lunch came out in grotesque taste and smell. She ignored the looks and whispers of passers-by, and focused on emptying the contents of her stomach. She did not expect to grab any kind of sympathy from anyone. So it was definitely a surprise when she felt a light and motherly touch on her back, rubbing her back gently to ease the flow of her sick.

 

She barely heard the male companion of the hand’s owner complaining over the wasted time, but she did hear the hand’s owner chiding the man. “Oh, nonsense, Sherlock. She’s clearly not feeling well. There’s no harm in helping her.”

 

Molly could imagine the man rolling his eyes behind her. “Her problems are not ours, Mrs. Hudson. Why should I waste my time helping this single mother who had just run away from home when the prospect of informing Inspector Lestrade that the suspect’s hiding under a brothel in Whitechapel is much more interesting?”

 

Molly had wanted to shout at him over his rude behaviour, and that was what she attempted to do after she had finished throwing up. Hastily straightening her back, she quickly turned around to scowl at the man. Only to stop when she took one brief glance at him.

 

The man was clearly taller than her with a lean body figure, perfectly accentuated by his black suit. His hair was prominently curly even under the top hat he was wearing. His eyes, although staring at her with a shrewd expression, had the mixed shade of blue, green and grey (‘how is such a combination possible?’ Molly thought.) He crossed his hand behind him as he stared deeply at her.

 

“Is there something you would like to say, Miss…?” he said. Molly had just noticed that his voice was a rich, deep baritone that shook her inner core.

 

_James had such a voice._

The thought of James Moriarty and the unplanned pregnancy caused Molly to burst into tears. Before she looked down to hide her tears, she triumphantly, albeit briefly saw shock and a brief guilt passing over his face.

 

“Oh, hush, darling.” The woman by his side—Mrs Hudson—returned her hand behind her. “I’m afraid you must forgive Mr Holmes’s outburst or thoughts. He can be quite rude sometimes. Well, all the time.”

 

“Mrs Hudson…” Mr Holmes warningly started.

 

But the older woman interrupted him. “Sherlock Holmes! You better apologize to the young lady at once!”

 

Molly had stopped crying and was sniffing when she heard the man quietly and somewhat insincerely (she inwardly frowned at that) apologized to her.

 

“You look cold, my dear. And hungry.” The last part was added when Molly’s stomach growled in an unladylike manner. Molly had, after all, not yet taken her lunch, although the city was getting darker.

 

“There is a coffeehouse not too far from here. I know the place serves wonderful Victoria sponges. Care to join us?” Mrs Hudson invited.

 

Mr Holmes seemed appalled. “Mrs Hudson! I told you I have an appointment with Inspector Lestrade…”

 

“Your appointment with the inspector is this evening, Mr Holmes,” Mrs Hudson once again interrupted him. “You were going to disturb the detective at his office just to give him your piece of thought.”

 

“It’s not just a piece of thought, Mrs Hudson. It’s a deduction. A conclusion I had reached after hours of deliberation.”

 

“Well, that can wait. For now, this young lady here is hungry, and if what you just said about her running away from her home is true, Mr Holmes, then there is a chance that this woman might not have enough money to buy some food for herself and her baby.”

 

Molly could tell that Mr Holmes wished to argue even more, but due to the increasing number of people staring at them, he conceded. “Fine,” he huffed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly explained her tale to the gentlemen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, if some of you think that this story's going a bit too fast to your liking, it's because I was hoping to not make this very long. Maybe for ten chapters or so.
> 
> Also, I may not be updating very often. I have to balance my classes, assignments, projects, my freelancing job, and also fasting during the Ramadan. So yeah, I get tired often so I might have a lot of writer's block from time to time.
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this chapter. If there are any mistakes or inconsistencies, do let me know.

 

* * *

 

 

It was only ten minutes after they sat down in the coffeehouse when Molly finally recognized her male companion.

 

“You’re Sherlock Holmes!” she blurted out, causing several people around their table to turn their heads towards them.

 

Mr Holmes was undisturbed at her sudden realization. “Obviously,” he muttered.

 

Molly’s blood began to boil. ‘You don’t have to be rude about it,’ she thought only to herself.

 

To her surprise, he responded, “I can behave in any way that I want to, Miss…”

 

“Hooper.”

 

“Miss Hooper. There is nothing to be surprised about, if you’ve heard about the stories my friend had concocted in the papers.”

 

“Do you read minds?” Molly once again blurted out. Her face turned red at the shrewd look he gave her.

 

“No, Miss Hooper. I can guess what is running inside that tiny head of yours just from the look on your face and the movements of your figure.”

 

Molly did not know how to respond to that, so she took a sip of the coffee served to her a few minutes ago. The taste made Molly scowl.

 

“Ugh. What is this?” she asked quietly, more to herself.

 

“Coffee,” Mr Holmes replied matter-of-factly. Molly resisted the urge to throw the contents of her cup to his face.

 

“I know that it is coffee, Mr Holmes.” She noticed the small smirk on his face when she said his name with as much venom she could properly muster. “I’ve been to this place before, and I know that they always use the same brand of coffee beans for their drinks.”

 

“The brand and origin of the coffee beans have not changed. Your revulsion to the taste and—” he took one pointed look at Molly’s disgusted face, “—smell of the drink is because of the baby growing inside you,” Mr Holmes bluntly explained.

 

The woman sitting next to their table turned her head and looked curiously towards them. Molly flushed with embarrassment and shame. “Mr Holmes, please…”

 

As Molly had known from his reputation as the only consulting detective in the world, it only took one look on her for him to realize what was going in her mind. “Not everyone knows,” he deduced. Then a frown appeared on his forehead. “And you’re not yet married.”

 

The word ‘married’ caused Molly to flinch and her eyes to well up. She did not notice a brief expression of sympathy crossing Mr Holmes’s face.

 

“Sherlock…” Mrs Hudson, who had been quiet since their orders arrived, faintly admonished him. “What have I told you…?”

 

“About hurting a young woman’s feelings?” He had interrupted her. “Many things, Mrs Hudson.” His face scrunched up into an uncomfortable expression. “I’m sorry, Miss Hopper, for my bluntness.”

 

Molly sniffed, thanking Mrs Hudson when the older woman offered her handkerchief to him. “It’s alright, Mr Holmes.”

 

“How about we take some of these—” Mrs Hudson gestured towards the plate of cakes on their table, “—back to Baker Street and you, um…tell the rest of your story to us there? There are less people inside the house.”

 

Molly agreed.

 

~*~

 

Just as Dr Watson had described in his stories, Baker Street was, although not quite spacey, actually comfortable. She was currently sitting on a cushioned chair where Mr Holmes’s clients usually sat in, clenching and unclenching her fingers at the skirt of her dress. She felt uncomfortable under the intense gaze of Mr Holmes, who was sitting right across from her, his hands steepled underneath his chin.

 

Just then, she heard the front door open, and two voices chatting animatedly while heading upstairs. Mrs Hudson welcomed the guest in and immediately left them alone again. The guest was none other than Dr Watson himself.

 

The doctor was just as surprised as she was when they briefly made eye contact. “Miss Hooper!”

 

Mr Holmes raised his eyebrow at his companion. “You know this woman?”

 

“Why, I’ve just treated her two days ago.” Dr Watson frowned. “Is she…?”

 

“A client?” Mr Holmes finished for him. At Dr Watson’s confirmation, he said, “I certainly hope so. Her behaviour so far seems to be screaming for help.”

 

Dr Watson scratched his moustache awkwardly before clearing his throat and took a seat across from them. “What can we do for you, Miss Hooper? Is it about…” He discreetly gestured at her stomach.

 

“I…I’m afraid so, doctor,” Molly replied meekly.

 

He brought out his notebook from his suit pocket. “Would you like to start from the beginning, Miss Hooper?” he prodded gently.

 

“Oh, please. This is interesting,” Mr Holmes interjected, somewhat sarcastically at his companion’s obvious question.

 

Dr Watson sighed. “Holmes…”

 

“It’s fine, doctor.” Molly cleared her throat. “My parents died when I was five years old. The carriage that they were riding in fell down a ravine, and…” Molly swallowed thickly. “Since then, my father’s aunt, Great-aunt Matilda Hooper-Steward—” Mr Holmes’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of the older woman’s name; he obviously knew her, “—took me in and raised me. She provided for my well-being, education, and lessons on etiquette, reading, and, well, basically common house chores for a lady of noble birth. Truth be told, Mr Holmes, the lessons bored me. You see, I have always been interested into…one might say, things that are inappropriate for ladies like me to be into.”

 

“Explain ‘inappropriate’,” Mr Holmes prodded.

 

Molly blushed, knowing that the men would be disgusted at her secret passion. Looking down at her lap, she said, “Morbid things, Mr Holmes. Corpses, reasons why they died, and what was inside their bodies as they died. My father was a doctor, Mr Holmes, and although my mother disapproved back then, he would always bring me with him as he examined the dead bodies of the village folk. It’s…inappropriate for a child to follow along, I know. But I remembered pestering my father to take me with him every time he went out of the house for his work.”

 

Molly smiled fondly at one of her memories of her parents. When she looked back at the other men, she noticed that Dr Watson was watching her with sympathy—most probably because of her fate as an orphan—but Mr Holmes’s gaze seemed to have a spark of interest and excitement in them. Molly, inwardly and silently, thanked them for not showing any disgust at her secret passion.

 

“Great-aunt Matilda, or course, disapproved of my passion. Maybe that is why she insisted I spend most of my time during her absence with my tutor, studying. And they were boring, although I enjoyed reading Jane Austen’s works. I—” Molly blushed once again, “—I am what you would call as a ‘hopeless romantic’. I often dream of meeting my soulmate who shares the same interests as I do.

 

“When a visiting professor from Ireland arrived in London, all of the ladies’ attention were drawn to him, including myself. But Great-aunt Matilda often looked at him with disdain and said that he ‘might bring nothing but trouble to those who follow him’. Sadly, I did not heed her words. I think, gentlemen, you can understand the elation and happiness when he took one look at me and became attracted to me. Or so I thought.

 

Molly burst into tears. “I should’ve known. Oh, I should’ve known…” she wailed.

 

She heard movement in front of her and looked up to see Dr Watson was standing in front of her, holding out his handkerchief towards her. Silently thanking him, she took the handkerchief and wiped her tears. She briefly glanced at Mr Holmes, afraid of him thinking of her as a weak woman.

 

“I take it that the professor professes his undying love for you, ‘gently’ pushed you into…” Mr Holmes trailed off. Molly knew what he was implying, so she just nodded her head.

 

“Then what happened?” Dr Watson asked.

 

“When I found out I’m…carrying his child, I told him. There was a gleaming look on his face, and I thought at that moment, he was willing to marry me. Instead, he told me to wait for him. Only those words, Mr Holmes. ‘Wait for me.’ Next thing I know, he…he had left for Germany…and is not expected to return in a year.” Mr Holmes frowned at the last part.

 

Molly sniffed. “Great-aunt Matilda was upset for my….carelessness and impropriety. She heard rumours that he had taken another lover with no intention of going back to ‘a certain person he had been spending a lot of time with at London’. I am not a simple woman; I knew that she meant me. She wanted me to abort the child, but I’ve heard that the process is painful and dangerous so I said no. She then insisted I get married as soon as possible to mask the child as my husband’s. I was so foolish, Mr Holmes, I refused to accept any of the gentlemen she had offered. I believed that James would return.”

 

The frown on Mr Holmes’s forehead deepened.

 

When Molly had calmed down, she said softly, “There is no mystery surrounding my tale, Mr Holmes, doctor. There is no murder, no complicated plot or anything. It was just a foolish young woman who believed the words of her lover. She who should have listened to her elders sooner.”

 

Dr Watson smiled sympathetically at her. Molly missed a pointed look he gave to Mr Holmes while mouthing the word ‘tea’. She heard a sigh from Mr Holmes direction and what seemed to be him standing up and heading towards to a table not too far from them.

 

As he poured a cup of tea for Molly, Dr Watson asked, “What is this man’s name, Miss Hooper? James…”

 

Molly sniffed. “James Moriarty.”

 

The sound of a smashing cup surprised Molly and Dr Watson. They both turned towards to Mr Holmes, who was standing and facing her, his hand, where there should have been a cup in it, empty. He had a look of surprise and horror on his face.

 

“What did you say?” he whispered slowly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. So so sorry for the late update. I'm having multiple projects at the same time, most of them being original works and I've just sent one this morning for a contest. I've also been busy with my internship at the local hospital, and been doing a bit of freelancing writing jobs at the same time. There's no excuse, I know, but I'll try to complete this as soon as possible before I start a new project. This fic's not suppose to be long, but just a short one with a not-too-complicated storyline. At least that's what I was hoping.
> 
> Anyway, onward to the story!
> 
> As usual, please excuse any errors, grammatical or continuity, as I didn't have the time to review what I've written. Let me know and if I can fix it up then I will. Any critiques will be taken into suggestion.

* * *

 

 

_One week later_

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Holmes?”

 

Sherlock sighed. He knocked on the door. “For the hundredth time, Watson, yes.”

 

John shook his head. “I can’t believe this…”

 

“It’s for her own safety.”

 

“Surely there’s some other way…”

 

“I have to get him, Watson. When he hears that she’s near me, he’ll come for her. That’s when I’ll catch him.”

 

The door opened. Sherlock smiled politely at the housekeeper. “Good afternoon, miss. I’m here to have a word with the Lady Matilda Steward.”

 

The housekeeper led them in. Distantly, they heard the voice of Lady Hooper from the drawing room asking the housekeeper who it was. When the young woman said Sherlock’s name, he could imagine the surprise on her face. As the two men entered the drawing room, they saw Matilda Steward was embroidering her handkerchief on a chair next to the fireplace, whereas her great-niece was sitting by the window, reading.

 

After inviting the two men to sit, she wasted no time for pleasantries. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit to my home, gentlemen?”

 

Sherlock, too, wasted no time to get to his goal for the visit. “I wish to ask for your niece’s hand.”

 

 

 

“ _How did you know that man, Miss Hooper?”_

 

_Molly almost flinched at the dangerous voice coming out of Mr Holmes’s mouth. “He…he courted me. Briefly.”_

 

“ _Courted?” Molly nodded._

 

“ _Holmes.” Molly was confused at the behaviour of the two gentlemen. Mr Holmes seemed shocked yet angry, while Dr Watson was mostly surprised. “Could it be the same person?”_

 

“ _It has to be. This is too much of a coincidence.” Mr Holmes stepped over the broken cup on the floor and went to his messy desk. He began rummaging through the pile of papers, obviously looking for something. When he finally found what he was looking for—a piece of paper with the caricature of a man on it—he brought it to Molly._

 

“ _Is it him, Miss Hooper?” he asked quite impatiently._

 

_Molly gasped. “Yes.”_

 

 

 

The older lady was shocked. Her eyes widened before they immediately narrowed. “Is this a jest, Mr Holmes?”

 

“In what way am I jesting, Lady Steward?” he asked back calmly.

 

“Margaret went out after our…altercation yesterday. You must’ve seen her outside and using your… skills, you knew that she’s…expecting.”

 

“Yes, I did.”

 

“Are you mocking me, Mr Holmes? I know that my niece has brought shame in this family by being pregnant out of wedlock,” she glared at Molly from the corner of her eye, causing the younger woman to shrink in her seat, “but not everyone knows of her pregnancy. Except for your friend, the doctor.”

 

John shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. Sherlock was still calm; he was already expecting this. Lady Steward may not be as high among her peers, but she was still as respected as any other noble family. The late Lord Steward was a member of the Diogenes Club, and one of Sherlock’s brother Mycroft’s close confidant (‘close’ is a nice way of putting it). Lord Steward once hired Sherlock to solve a robbery in a family estate, a simple case, yet somehow complicated at the same time, involving old family rivalries and grudges.

 

“And what do you seem to be implying, Lady Steward?”

 

Lady Steward sneered. “Surely you must’ve guessed it by now.” When Sherlock did not answer (“ _Of course I know. I just want to hear it right from your own foul mouth._ ”), she continued, “You’re asking for her hand now, and when the day comes closer, you suddenly leave her. Just like that sorry excuse of a gentleman who impregnated her in the first place.”

 

Sherlock smiled simply. “I can assure you, Lady Steward, that my intentions are not the same as that man’s.”

 

Lady Steward harrumphed. She then turned to her niece. “Did you know about this? Or are the two of you been seeing each other for a while now?”

 

Sherlock looked at Miss Hooper who ducked her head in embarrassment. “No, Aunt Matilda.”

 

“Which one is a no?” There was no mistaking the scorn in her voice.

 

Miss Hooper spared a quick glance at him. He gave the briefest of a nod.

 

 

 

“ _What…what is this?” Molly was shaking in fear._

 

_Mr Holmes sighed. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Miss Hooper. But this…gentleman—although he is a respected professor—is also a homicidal psychopath.”_

 

“ _But…how?” Molly could not stop the tears from leaking out._

 

How have I been trusting him?

 

“ _When was the last time you saw him, Miss Hooper?” Mr Holmes asked urgently. “If he’s close then we can catch him…”_

 

“ _He’s not close, I’m afraid,” Molly interrupted. She sniffed once before continuing, “He had left England two days ago.”_

 

_Mr Holmes let out a curse and turned away. “Damn him!”_

 

“ _What are we to do now, Holmes?”_

 

_Mr Holmes turned to face her once again. “He went to Germany, you say?” When Molly nodded, he gazed at the window. He seemed to be thinking._

 

“ _Don’t tell me we’re going to Germany to catch him, Holmes?”_

 

“ _Nonsense, Watson. That takes time.” He went silent. “How long have you been pregnant, Miss Hooper?”_

 

“ _Three weeks, Mr Holmes.”_

 

 _He sighed. He once again turned to Molly with a solemn expression. He addressed to Watson, “You may call me an idiot for suggesting this, and this might be—no, not ‘might’, it_ will _be dangerous. But for Miss Hooper’s safety and for the sake of England, this has to be done.” He knelt in front of Molly. “Here’s what we’re going to do…”_

 

 

 

“To both, Aunt Matilda.” Just as they had practiced, Miss Hooper answered back. There is no doubt that even though she disliked and was afraid of her great-aunt, Margaret Hooper, being the timid and polite young lady that she is, respected the older woman.

 

Lady Steward harrumphed again. She began mumbling to herself, “First she became pregnant, and now she’s courting two men at the same time. After everything that I’ve done for her…”

 

Miss Hooper gave an unladylike snort, surprising both men. “After everything _you_ ’ve done? What have you done, Aunt Matilda? I know you never wanted me and that you still blame my parents for dying and leaving me here with you. I did my very best to please you, and yet it still wasn’t enough. You shamed me for being pregnant, and I agree, I am upset at myself for getting into this mess in the first place. But now I’m starting to think that maybe my pregnancy does help. At least someone came to truly ask for my hand, just like what you’ve always wanted.”

 

Sherlock was amused at her outburst and her snide comment at the last sentence, while Watson struggled to hide his smile. She looked different than her usual timid self. Lady Steward, meanwhile, was shocked.

 

“Insolent child!” she hissed. “Do you want me to throw you out of this house?!”

 

Miss Hooper smiled ruefully. “If you throw me out, everyone will know what I’ve done.”

 

Lady Steward gasped. Then her eyes narrowed. “Fine! You seem desperate enough to marry this man, then I’ll let you two marry.”

 

Sherlock internally sighed in relief. _At least the first part’s done_ , he thought. Next, he had to convince his parents on the match.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short and quick chapter where Sherlock gets a slight update from his target. As usual, I'll try to update more often.

 

* * *

 

 

“Should I say ‘congratulations’, brother?”

 

Sherlock ignored his brother’s tease and sat down. “We need to talk.”

 

Mycroft Holmes gave a smile that almost seemed like a sneer. “I’m afraid I’m not the right person to talk to about wedding arrangements.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Of course, dear brother. Who would want to talk about marriage in front of the twice-divorced gentleman?” He ignored the frown on Mycroft’s face and continued, “It’s about my…fiancé.”

 

“She’s expecting, isn’t she?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And I’m guessing you’re not the father?”

 

Sherlock sighed deeply. “Of course I’m not.” He then mumbled under his breath, “I can’t believe you’re the smarter one.”

 

“I heard that.”

 

Sherlock smirked. “Good.”

 

The frown on Mycroft’s forehead deepened. “What is it about Miss Hooper that you want to talk about?”

 

“It’s about the baby’s father.”

 

“What about him?”

 

“It’s Moriarty.”

 

Mycroft stiffened. “What did you say?”

 

“Moriarty’s the father.”

 

Silence filled the room. “Are you sure?”

 

“One hundred percent positive. Even Miss Hooper identified him from the caricature that you have given me.”

 

Mycroft let out a curse under his breath. “I should’ve known…”

 

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. “Is there something you’re not sharing with me, brother?”

 

Mycroft seemed to hesitate before he said, “I’ve heard…rumours. About Moriarty looking for a successor.”

 

Sherlock snorted. “And what? This child is supposed to be it?”

 

“Possibly.”

 

Sherlock almost laughed. “Age sure is catching up with you, Mycroft. If he intended for the child carried by Miss Hooper to take over his… _business_ , it would take years until the child gets old enough to be taught how criminality works. And also, he would’ve taken Miss Hooper with him away from England, where he can raise his child while keeping the mother hostage.”

 

“That plan would’ve been impossible, brother. Miss Hooper is from a well-known family, and her disappearance would’ve raised suspicions. If they eloped, they would be the talk of town. And we both know Moriarty is not comfortable with such a small scandal. He would’ve wanted to leave a bigger mark on this world. An elopement is nothing compared to blackmail and murder.”

 

“Then what is it?” Sherlock searched through his brain for an answer. He felt his body turning cold at the realization. “Is he going to kidnap the child?” Bad memories rushed through his mind.

 

Mycroft looked at him with sympathy (oh, how Sherlock loathed that look from his brother). “It could be.”

 

This time, it was Sherlock who let out a curse. “I should keep Molly safe.”

 

Mycroft sneered. “Oh, is it Molly now?”

 

Sherlock sighed. “She’s my fiancé now.”

 

“Men refer to their wives by their titles, Sherlock. First names sound…intimate. Are you starting to care for the young lady?”

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “I’m not one for intimacy. You of all people should know that, Mycroft.”

 

“Miss Adler would beg to differ.”

 

Sherlock tried not to flush, but he knew his brother would notice his red ears. Thankfully, Mycroft did not comment on them. “Anyway, dear brother, when’s the wedding? Have you decided when to tell our parents?”

 

“I’ve sent a telegram informing them of our upcoming nuptials. We both decided to have a small ceremony and a feast with family members and close friends.”

 

“Hmm.” Mycroft filled his pipe with tobacco before lighting it up. “Am I invited?”

 

“Very funny, Mycroft.”

 

Mycroft sighed, exasperated. “You do know that gatherings are not on the list of my favourite things, Sherlock?”

 

“It is a short list.”

 

Mycroft ignored the jape. “I’d rather spend my days locked up in my room at the club, with nothing but my own company.”

 

“And cakes.”

 

Mycroft glared. “I’ll pretend to not hear that.” Sherlock grinned.

 

“Would it help for you to show up for a few minutes, at least? There will be cakes.”

 

“Sherlock…” Mycroft gave a warning look. Sherlock chuckled in response.

 

“I hope to see you there, Mycroft. Despite the animosity between us, I could use a brother’s help on my wedding day. Perhaps to give me a few advices.”

 

“I have one advice for you right now, Sherlock. _Don’t_ get married.”

 

“Wasn’t planning to in the first place.” Sherlock stood up. “One more thing, Mycroft. Any new information about Moriarty should be relayed to me as well.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it has been a while since the last update. Once again, I sincerely apologize for a late update to this story. A quick update on myself: I've finished my internship, had to write a report to be submitted to my lecturer in a week since the last date of the internship, and I've been busy looking up for what to do next. So far, I'm interested in improving my baking skills, try sewing, and look for new jobs, freelance or steady ones.
> 
> Anyway, I'm also working on a new story centered on Sherlolly (no kidding!) which I will update once I finish this one.
> 
> Onward to the story, then!

 

* * *

 

 

Upon the announcement of the upcoming nuptials of a certain Mister William Sherlock Scott Holmes to a Miss Margaret Anne Louise Hooper, Lord and Lady Holmes immediately insisted on meeting the ‘lucky woman’, as they had referred to Molly. Molly’s journey to Musgrave Hall, the family’s ancestral home, was filled with nervousness and dread. She was worried that Lord and Lady Holmes would not welcome her, especially if they found out beforehand of her current predicament.

 

Mrs Mary Watson, John’s wife, had insisted that the elderly Holmeses were not as unfriendly as their two sons were. “I’ve met them before at my reception,” she had said in the carriage while smoothing the blond curls on her daughter’ Rosamund’s head. “They are very nice and even offered to pay for our tickets to Vienna. That was where we were heading for our honeymoon.”

 

As much as she valued Mary’s words, Molly still could not stop the nervousness in her. She distracted herself by trying to keep up in a conversation with little Rosamund on the state of her presumably missing teddy bear.

 

True to Mary’s words, Lord and Lady Holmes welcomed her into their arms, literally, as soon as they arrived. Lady Holmes even kindly asked how far along was she as they led them inside the manor.

 

“I’ve just received a telegram from Sherlock not long before you girls arrive,” Lady Holmes said as they were having tea in the drawing room. “He said the case is solved and that he and John are currently on their way here. They are expected to arrive tomorrow, if the weather’s clear.”

 

“Oh, but I heard there will be rain,” Molly said worryingly.

 

Lady Holmes smiled. “Then they will arrive slightly later than expected.” She then casted a mischievous glance to Molly. “But I would not be surprised if Sherlock insisted on arriving here on the dot if it meant to see you again, Molly.”

 

Mary laughed. “Oh, please don’t, Violet. That means I have to hear John’s constant nagging on how inconsiderate he is to his companion.”

 

The two women laughed while Molly offered a brief smile. There was no way he would insist on arriving here early just to see her, right? They were not getting married because they loved each other; he wanted to protect her and her unborn child from… Moriarty.

 

Throughout her ordeal so far, Molly realized she was having a hard time to call her former love by his first name, as he had insisted when they first met. Especially when she found out who he truly was from Mr Holmes ( _you have to call him ‘Sherlock’ now, Molly,_ she often reminded herself) and Dr Watson, she could not have easily believed their words had it not been the accurate time of his departure from London as mentioned by the two gentlemen.

 

~*~

 

_She was standing in a field, her hands tightly holding a little boy’s. She was smiling at him warmly._

_She heard herself call the boy by a name she could not discern. “Let’s go home. Your father’s waiting for us,” she said._

_“Oh, he sure is.” Another voice called out in the field. Molly looked up and felt her blood run cold._

_He was standing at the other end of the field right across them before he stepped closer. The little boy tugged her hand gently. “Mummy, who is that?” he asked innocently, but Molly could tell that he too was afraid._

_Molly tried to pull her son behind her, but James immediately pounced and pulled the boy away from her._

_“No! Leave him alone!” Molly screamed. Her son was crying loudly in James’s arm._

_“He is mine, Molly. And you should too.” He moved forward to grab her._

Molly jerked awake. It was dark and raining heavily outside. She wanted to light up a candle in the dark room but when she headed to the bedside table, she found that there was no candle in there. Nor was the table hers.

 

Panic settled in her and her hands automatically went to her belly. Her protruding stomach was still there, she thought with relief. That was when she finally remembered where she was at the moment.

 

_How silly!_ she chided herself. _I’m at Musgrave right now, not home._

 

She heard a knock on her door and Agatha, the Holmes’s housemaid, gently called her from outside. “Is everything alright, Miss?”

 

She headed towards the door and opened it slightly. She saw the worried expression on the woman who was a few years older than her staring back at her. Agatha was also holding a candlestick in her hand, illuminating her olive skin.

 

“I’m fine, Agatha. Thank you for asking.” She looked around the dark hallway. “What are you doing out here? It’s late.”

 

“I was fetching a few candles for myself, Miss. Then I heard you moaning in there and I thought you are in pain.”

 

Molly smiled, glad at the concern the maid was showing her. “Like I said, I’m fine.” She spotted the candles in Agatha’s other hand. “Agatha, do you mind if I take just one of your candles? I don’t think I have any in here.”

 

The maid smiled. “Of course, Miss.”

 

She was about to hand one of the candles to Molly when there was a loud pounding at the front door.

 

Molly and Agatha stared at each other, both were looking terrified.

 

“Agatha.” Molly gulped slowly. “Are… are we expecting any guests at this late hour?”

 

Agatha shook her head furiously. “No, Miss.”

 

They jumped when the pounding continued.

 

“I’ll… I’ll get it,” Agatha said, resolved. She handed the rest of her candles to Molly and turned to head downstairs.

 

“Do you want me to come with you, Agatha?” Molly asked.

 

“It’s okay, Miss…”

 

Molly interrupted her. “If anything happens to you, I will head straight to Kenneth.” Kenneth was a stable boy who slept in a small room next to the kitchen.

 

Agatha smiled at Molly. “Thank you, Miss.”

 

The two headed slowly to the front door where the pounding continued. Slowly, Agatha unlocked the door. The two women only saw the silhouette of two men as lighting flashed. They screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit brief, but it's currently midnight and I have to get up early tomorrow to start my self-taught baking lessons. At least, that's what I plan to do tomorrow...


End file.
